


2. Hitting the Gym

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Banshee RPF, New Zealand Actor RPF, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant but really he's a master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information. Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he's been warned to leave the organization and its membership alone. Anything Antony does will only affect outside interests.</p><p>In this log, Antony meets up again with Ian Somerhalder. His story eventually becomes entwined with that of Stephen Amell which is why the storyline is named after them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2. Hitting the Gym

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization. Also warning for fighting, con non-con and drug use.

Throwing his bag open on the bed, Antony starts packing, counting off in his head how many shirts he needs for how many days, how many pairs of pants. He prefers to travel light, never checks anything, but he'll be gone for three weeks this time and there'll be little chance of doing laundry. Any equipment he needs will be there and waiting. Same with weapons.

Ian's feeling...itchy...unsettled...in need of distraction. His head is a mess, so much so he's drinking even more than usual and he's been contemplating seeking out one of the men he sees for his beat downs. Known quantities each of them. Bar one. He's turning the card over in his hand, heedless of the crisp, professional font on the front, all Ian is interested in is the scribbled name and number on the back. This guy is an unknown entity, just one quick and nasty fuck in an alley to draw on, but Ian's pretty sure he can press a few more buttons given the chance.

_Fuck it._

_It's Ian. Looking to hook up. After some of the extras you alluded to. Interested?_ He's not sure he'll get a reply, but it's worth a shot, right?

Antony blows out a breath, making a face when his phone starts to buzz. He picks it up, glancing at the display, taking a moment, but only a moment to place the name. Ian. The hot fuck in the alley beside Coogan's. The one who'd asked him what'd he do to him if he could.

_ Tonight? I'm flying out tomorrow. _

"Yes!" Ian grins. _Free after 9.30. Looking for something rough. Nasty. You the man?_ He's already heading into his bedroom kicking off his yoga pants.

Antony chuckles at the response, giving his bag and the clock on the wall only a quick glance before he texts back _Definitely. 9:30 @ 723 N. Vine St. Wear something you don't care about._

When Ian rocks up at the designated time he's in a pair of old jeans, a tee that's seen better days and he has a bag over his shoulder, in which he's stashed a fresh change of clothes, some water and some not entirely legal pain meds. He's also high as a fucking kite, another couple of hits tucked in his jacket pocket. 

He rubs at his nose before knocking on the door, giving the building a quick once over.

Dressed in jeans, boots and a tight black tee, Antony answers the door, pushing it open and motioning Ian into the building he's owned for the last three years. "Wasn't sure I was going to hear from you," he says, locking up behind them and leading the other man through the front office of the old now-closed-for-good boxing gym and into the main room. The ring still dominates the centre, but the floor is covered with mats, chains hanging from the ceiling, bags hanging from half of them.

Ian's head's turning this way and that taking in the inside of the building. He likes what he sees, it gives what he wants the right vibe. "Hmm? Oh, yeah well, you were on the mark when we had our little date." He shrugs, letting the bag slide from his shoulder. "And I play both ends, I'm not always looking to get taken down."

Antony nods. He can see that. "Is your face still off-limits?"

Head swiveling back from his look see, Ian catches Antony's gaze. "Yeah, unless you can hit me and not leave any marks or swelling, I'm on a regular filming schedule." He drops the bag on the floor. "Which also means nothing with my throat either, gotta be able to spit out my lines." Shrugging off his jacket it drops that on top of the bag. "Other than that? I like full body contact, punching, kicking. You hit me with a belt or leather strap and I'm good. You can fuck me with whatever you like, just make sure I can come back for seconds." He spreads his hands. "Any other questions?"

"Yeah." Antony squares his stance, watching Ian closely. "Are you high?"

Ian blinks, rocks on his heels a little as he considers his reply. Then he shrugs. "Yeah."

Antony nods. "Coke?"

"Yeah." Ian's eyes never leave Antony's face, he's trying to weigh up if this'll change things. "You want some?"

"Thanks but no," Antony says, shaking his head. He just likes going into things with every bit of information he needs. "You're healthy otherwise? No ulcers, no heart issues, no injuries or conditions I should know about?"

Shaking his head, Ian props his hands on his hips. "No, I'm all good. I do a lot of yoga, I mean a lot. I'm very supple, and stronger than I look. I drink too much fucking vodka, and I like a coke buzz when I get taken down." He nods at his bag. "Change of clothes, water, hardcore pain meds and some back up blow." He looks back. "Anything else?"

"Nope." There's a thick mat off to the side with a couple of blankets, some water, a first aid kit and such but Antony glad to see Ian's come prepared. "I think we're good," he says, picking up a roll of tape. "I don't usually bother with this but I have a job this week," he explains, starting to wrap his hands. "If I fuck up my hands it'll make it that much harder."

Huh, that right there has Ian's cock twitching already. "I need you to make me go down. How much fight back do you like?" He toes off his shoes as he speaks before bending to yank off his socks. "Two way street and all that."

"As much as you want to give me," Antony says, setting the tape aside when he's done and making sure he's got a couple of condoms in his back pocket, lubricated, of course, because he sure as hell won't be taking the time to lube Ian up properly. "You sure you don't want a safeword?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Ian does a quick stretch of his back and neck. He'd done some warm up at home before he'd left, along with a little anal prep. "You got any buttons you like pushed? Or anything you want me to steer clear of?" One last check in he figures.

Antony shakes his head again. "Nope. I'm pretty sure you'll manage to push the right buttons," he says with a grin, his eyes dancing, his jeans already a little tighter than they were before. He crooks a finger at Ian, backing them up a little more into the middle of the room.

Ian follows easily enough, after all it's what he's here for. His pulse is thrumming and he's getting a nice edge of adrenaline to feed the coke buzz. "You gonna kiss me again?" he asks with a bright smile. "Call me sweetheart?" he teases.

"Maybe. After I pin you down and fuck you open," Antony responds, feinting a blow to Ian's stomach with his right hand -- like that first night -- before he hooks his left leg around Ian's and knocks him off his feet, following up with a quick kick to his ribs when he's on the ground.

 _Jesus fucking....OUCH!_ Ian hits the ground hard, the breath going out of him in a whoosh, and then a booted foot smacks him in the side, which sends his head spinning. _No fucking warm up then?!_ He scoots away, quick and agile, rolling to his feet, blue eyes gone dark now his pupils have blown totally wide. "Bastard!" 

"Pussy," Antony retorts, motioning with both hands for Ian to 'bring it on'.

"Aww, love you too," Ian smart asses. He dances on his feet a little before darting in, aiming for Antony's belly, one of his own hands up, to block any retaliation, he lands a blow, not nearly as hard as he'd have liked and darts back, before snapping in again for a second go.

Antony laughs, cursing when Ian hits him, his muscles absorbing the blow. "That all you got?" he says, dodging Ian's next punch and reaching around to land one of his own. Nice and solid to Ian's solar plexus. "You hit like a girl. Guess it makes sense, since you're so fucking pretty."

Anywhere else, being called pretty might have made Ian preen a little. He's fucking vain and he'll admit it. But here? Now? Not so much. In fact is has quite the opposite effect, it riles him up, pisses him off. "Fuck off!" he growls when he gets his breath, and he races in for an ill judged all out, fists flying and a foot snaking out to snap at a knee. 

Antony easily sidesteps the assault, bringing an elbow down hard into Ian's upper back as the other man loses his balance. His opponent on the floor, he drops down, pressing him to the mat with his knee, a hand shoved into his hair, pulling his head back. "Hit a nerve, did I, pretty thing?" he murmurs, close to his ear. "Is that what you are? A girl? Is that what I'm gonna find down your pants? A nice wet pussy?"

Ian had hoped to at least hold his own for a little while, this? Is fucking humiliating and not entirely in a good way. His breath is coming in short sharp bursts as he lets his anger simmer, laying here, Antony's mouth at his ear. "No fucking girl," he protests, one hand coming up aiming for the other guy's jaw. His own face might be off limits, but Antony hadn't made any such stipulation.

Antony's head snaps back and he rocks to his feet, bringing his boot in against Ian's ribs. Christ. He can feel the bruise blooming and knows there'll be hell to pay in covering the damn thing up for the job he's doing but right now, he could care less as he goes after the other man, getting another good kick in before Ian makes it to his feet. "That's more like it," he says, touching his jaw. "Wouldn't want to just spread your legs and admit what a fuckpig you are..."

Ian's ribs _hurt_. As in, visible bruising hurt. _Goddamn!_. He runs a hand through his hair and dances on the spot, the coke buzz is wearing off so it's adrenaline that's fueling him now as he moves in, fists up and swings out one of his own legs in a surprisingly high kick.

Antony grabs Ian's foot and twists it, sending him sprawling to the floor again. "Get up," he growls, kicking him in the hip this time, a second kick pulled before it can land. Fuck. There's such a fine line between taking the guy down and putting him out of commission. "Come on, you pathetic piece of shit. Hit me. You're not getting this," he grabs his crotch, "until you do."

Ian stills when hits the floor _again_ , his eyes closed as he catalogues his pain. _Get up, get up and go back for more..._ Then there's another blow and his eyes snap open, he pushes up onto all fours, then onto his feet. His gaze is on Antony's package, still cupped where the other man is taunting him. His fingers pull at his own tee which he pulls off over his head, using it to wipe over his face before tossing it aside. His jeans are riding low, so just the handles of his tattooed pistols are on show. He takes a breath, and winces, tries to centre himself and then goes in again, aiming once more for a blow to Antony's face. That taunting, sneering, wonderful face.

Antony blocks that blow too but not the next few, Ian pummeling his fists into his ribs. He stops short of smashing the palm of his hand into the other man's face, instead firming up his stance and matching blow to blow, four, five, six, until he hooks the other man's leg again, sending him to the floor and dropping down, this time yanking his arm high on his back like he did that first night. "Fucking little bitch," he grits out, grinding the ridge of his erection against the man's hip.

Ian's about done, at least as being a punch bag, but it's not his call and that thought sends a shiver of lust along his spine. Ian licks over his bottom lip and wishes he could taste blood, feel a split there, but he doesn't and he can't. Instead he turns his head, grimaces and gives a half assed struggle. "Yeah m'bitch," he admits.

"That's more like it," Antony says, reaching under Ian, fingers working open the button and then the zip on the other man's jeans, pushing them awkwardly down over his hips, his free hand still holding Ian's arm high on his back.

Ian doesn't exactly hinder Antony when he pulls at his jeans, he likes being naked, he likes being naked when he's being taken down. "You gonna..." he grunts at a particular pull on his trapped arm. "You gonna hurt me more first?" he asks, his voice a little winded. "Or just fuck me?" 

"That depends," Antony says, baring Ian's ass, his cock throbbing at the sight. "Are you gonna fight me?"

"If it means you'll hurt me more, yes." Ian twists to look at Antony, letting some of his mask slide. 

"S'nice leather belt..." The seemingly innocuous comment is anything but. Ian'd noticed it earlier. 

Antony looks at Ian for a long moment then chuckles, letting go of his arm. "Get your fucking jeans off," he orders, pulling his belt free from its loops and rocking to his feet. "Brace yourself against the ring."

A fresh wave of need washes over Ian at Antony's easy concession to his 'request'. He even has to bite back a 'thanks'. Instead he kicks off his jeans and gets up, his cock half hard, thick and heavy between his thighs. Ian makes his way to the edge of the old boxing ring and with one long look over his shoulder he braces himself, breath held. _Hit me, hit me, hit me..._

Antony doubles the belt, the buckle tucked in against his palm, and moves behind Ian, his eyes on the man's ass, locked there for a moment before his gaze flickers over his back, the marks he's left, the bruises already purpling, stark and beautiful. "You really are a painslut, aren't you," he comments, nothing but approval in his tone before he brings the doubled leather in against Ian's ass, nothing held back.

The reply, Ian's retort of 'You have no fucking idea' is lost the moment the belt lands on his skin. He jumps and hisses out around clenched teeth, before resuming his position, that non verbal 'more'. The pain here is different to the fighting; sharper, brighter, more brutal and it's in this pain that Ian can lose himself.

Antony brings in the belt again and again, alternating between cheeks, between ass and shoulders, tops of thighs, his cock getting harder as Ian's skin grows redder.

Ian's making all kinds of noise at this point, grunts, shouts and even the odd whimper, his fingers are slipping on the ring edge and his legs are weakening. But Ian fights to stay up, because once his knees hit the floor he's certain Antony will stop and Ian doesn't want this to stop, even if his body is screaming at him that enough is enough. He even turns his head and slurs out... "More."

"What makes you think you _deserve_ more?" Antony says, dragging the belt down Ian's back. "I haven't heard one please out of that filthy mouth of yours."

It's only because Antony has done his job so well up to this point that Ian's in the head space to respond to that without a pithy bitchy retort. 

He adjusts his hold on the ring, letting the blood flow through his fingers before tightening up again, getting himself ready.

"Please," Ian's voice is rough, hoarse. "Please hit me some more."

It thrills Antony to his core to get those words from Ian, mostly because he thinks he has a pretty good idea of how few get them. But he just nods and lays into Ian again, swinging even harder than before, every muscle in his shoulder screaming as he sets to beating him black and blue.

Ian's vision is starting to close in when he finally lets go. His fingers open and his weight buckles his knees and he hits the floor in a heap, one hand flutters up near his face as if to cover it and he doesn't fucking care that he's crying, all he cares about is that the only pain he can feel right now is physical. _Thank you_.

Antony gives Ian a moment, recognizing catharsis when he sees it, but then he drops the belt at his side and nudges his toe against Ian's foot. "Hands and knees," he orders.

It takes Ian a couple of attempts to roll over onto his front, and then he hisses in pain as he pushes up onto all fours, the skin across his back, ass, thighs - fuck! all over - feels paper thin and too damned tight. The flesh beneath is swelling, colouring up, seizing up and making any movement fucking agony. 

But Ian's not one to bail before a deal is complete, so he presents his ass, inches his knees wider and lets Antony see his reward.

A soft groan slips from Antony at the sight, his jeans tightening as his cock swells even more. Unzipping, he frees the aching column of flesh, rolling a condom on and kneeling behind Ian. Rubs the head over that tight pucker and, with one hand on the other man's shoulder, starts to push in, pulling him back, head forcing its way through that first tight ring of muscle.

No prep. Nothing. Ian's suddenly thankful he bothered before he left. As perfunctory as it had been, it at least means Antony can actually get in him. Even so, it fucking hurts, _really_ fucking hurts and Ian has to pant, baring down, even at one point trying to pull away. "Jesus....fuckfuck...no...nononono...."

"Oh no you don't," Antony says, tightening his grip on Ian's shoulder and pushing in harder. "I bet you've taken it drier than this before," he murmurs, hips hitching, working his cock deep by fractions. "Slut like you."

"M'not slut..." Ian's words are barely coherent. "Just need the...noise." He arches and yelps, as Antony gives a more pronounced push. He drops to his elbows, his head hanging loose as he concentrates on his breathing.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Antony asks, still focused on the task at hand, rocking his hips until he's firmly seated inside the other man, not really expecting Ian'll answer him.

Ian won't answer, he can't, his brain disengaged a while back and now it's just random, disconnected shit that's spilling out of his mouth. His skin is on fire, and his ass feels like it's ripped. This is about as immersed in pain as Ian ever gets, and whilst he craves it, he still has to _endure_ it when he gets there.

"M...fuck pig...fuck..fuck me.."

Antony grins at that. "Yeah, you are, aren't you?" he breathes, pulling back and pushing in again, forcing the path to widen. "You're nothing but a dirty little fuck pig."

It's the final part of Ian's journey, being used like this, sometimes it's not a cock or even a sex toy that's used on him, but the final act is always some form of sexual humiliation. And he lets it play out...this time, it's got an edge, something _more_. Later he might consider that it's Antony himself, a man clearly at home playing like this. Right now, Ian doesn't care, all he cares about is staying up on his knees long enough for the other man to cum.

"God you're so fucking tight," Antony breathes, starting to thrust a little more easily. "Fucktoy like you shouldn't be this tight."

 _Fuck toy....fuck toy..._ The epithet resounds in his head. _Yeah, fuck toy...yeah..._ He rocks back into the thrusts, his hole loosening a little meaning Antony can move faster, more like the first time they did this.

Using his hold on Ian's shoulder as leverage, Antony grips the man's ass with his other hand, nails digging into bruised skin, pulling it open, his eyes locked on where his cock's disappearing into Ian again and again. Riding him. Fuck. Harder and harder, his teeth gritted, jaw aching where Ian hit him.

Sex, the stink of it fills Ian's nose, that along with the scent of his own sweat which is beginning to bloom over his skin, stinging where the skin has abraded sufficiently. The air is pushed out of him with each thrust and he's finding it harder and harder to stay up.

It doesn't take much more. Antony's been hard for what seems like forever, riding that edge since the moment he entered the man beneath him. He snaps his hips forward another half dozen times and comes with a shout, carving half-moons in Ian's skin as he pumps hot and heavy into the latex.

It's over. The moment Antony cums Ian knows this is done. He starts to close in on himself, visibly shaking as shock starts to set in. He rocks on his knees and then, when Antony withdraws, he falls over onto his side, curled up on himself. 

"I'll be right back," Antony says, quickly disposing of the condom in a nearby bin. He grabs a blanket, pillow and water, tucking the first aid kit under his arm and moves back to Ian, spreading the blanket over him and lifting his head onto the pillow. He'd have preferred to get him to the other mat but he doubts Ian's going anywhere right now. "Here," he says, settling beside him and cracking open the bottle of water. "Have a sip."

The blanket is nice, the pillow a surprise. Ian tugs the warm fabric around himself with shaking fingers, and tries, not very successfully to lift his head up enough to take the water. When most of it spills over his chin he grins Antony a spaced out smile. "There's straw...in my bag," he drops his head down. "N'pills...need them." 

"I'll get them." Antony opens up Ian's bag, rummaging through it only as much as he needs to find the straw and the bottle of pills. "Two?" he confirms, checking the label, pretty sure the contents don't match it. He pops the straw in the bottle, shakes the pills out and offers both to Ian.

Ian has to sit up to take the pills, so he pushes up, slowly and painfully tucking the blanket around his shoulders, wincing as he settles his weight on his butt. He takes the pills, sucks them down with a long drink of the water. "Thanks." He licks the water from his bottom lip and leans his head in his hand, his elbow on one knee. 

"You okay?" Antony asks, reaching out to brush the hair back from Ian's face, a move that surprises even himself although he doesn't pull back because that would be even more obvious. Christ.

Ian huffs out a breath. "Fucking spectacular," he drawls, bringing the water back up to his mouth. That touch was unexpected, he rarely gets any kind of aftercare when he scenes like this, let alone any interest, or contact.

Antony smiles and nods, starting, finally, to unwrap his hands. "Good. Is there anything else I can get for you? Did you drive here?"

Ian's brow quirks up. "Drive?" He looks down at himself. "Fuck no, I got a cab, no state to drive." He reaches out for his bag and tugs out some sweat pants. "Thanks for this," he shrugs off the blanket. "Nice change," he murmurs more to himself.

"I'll take you home when you're ready, no rush," Antony tells him, Ian's last few words sinking in a moment later. "You're not used to being taken care of after?"

The offer of a ride home sits oddly with Ian, but he doesn't refuse it. At least not yet. Face creased in pain he tugs on the pants, shuffling around to get them up around his waist. "Hm? Oh, no. No." He looks up, pausing before retrieving a sweatshirt. "This," he waves a hand around indicating the whole scene. "Was safe. I don't normally get that." He tugs the top on. "S'usually, beaten, fucked, thrown out..." he shrugs. "S'what I agree to."

"In order to get the beaten and fucked?" Antony asks, cracking open another bottle of water and taking a sip. "Or because you don't want the safe at all?"

Ian has to stop and think on that. His head's still all fuzzy from pain and the scene, so it takes him a little while to get his thoughts in order, and when he speaks, he's a little more honest than he'd normally be.

"The danger gives me a buzz," he admits. "But too many people on the scene won't go where I want because it's beyond RACK, it freaks them out. So I had to look on the edges, in the darker places," he huffs out a humourless laugh. "I've met some very real sadistic fucks out there, had to suck up more than I signed up for." Another shrug. "Is this as hardcore as you get?" he asks, eyes flicking up to settle on the other man's face for the first time since this finished.

"No," Antony answers simply, giving a shake of his head. "I can get a lot more brutal than this, but I don't leave my partners after. Not until I'm sure they're okay."

Ian nods at that, fishes out another bottle of water from his bag. "How brutal?" Because yeah, he's fucking interested. 

Antony blows out a breath, running a hand over the back of his head, not really sure if he should answer that honestly or not. "I've dislocated someone's shoulder on purpose, fucked them with it out," he says. "But I put it back in after. And I'm into pissing on people after I've beat the crap out of them. Punch-fucking. I like being able to hit someone in the face. Split their cheek, bloody their lip. Chains for whipping, non-toys for fucking." He shrugs.

Ian's gaze never leave Antony's face. "Okay," he swallows. "The dislocation shit is off the table. And the _only_ reason I can't give you my face is work. Otherwise that would have been on offer today," Ian explains quietly. "I recently took a beating that had me black and blue from neck to knees, I was pissing blood for two days. I've been fucked with things I might not have agreed to given a choice. I have to walk a very fine line on what I can take. I usually do it high, mostly coke. I've been fucking lucky so far."

"It sounds like it," Antony agrees, gritting his teeth at the thought of some asshole out there hurting people, hurting Ian, that fucking badly. Pissing blood for two days? "It also sounds like I can give you what you want without you putting yourself in actual danger," he adds, because Ian said _the dislocation shit is off the table_ which has to mean he's interested in seeing Antony again. "I'm not always in-country but you can text me, phone me, whenever you find yourself needing that and if I'm here, I'd be happy to help out."

"Yeah? I'd like that. Though sometimes, I might need you to go bastard on me, give me that illusion of 'out of my fucking depth', you know?" Ian scrubs his face, noticing his hands aren't shaking like they were. "And if I get sufficient time off? You get first dibs on my face..."

"Deal, and I think I can manage the bastard part," Antony says with a grin. "Are you sure you don't want to crash on the cot here? There's showers, towels..."

"No... I'm good, I like to get home, shower there then crash out..." Ian nods. "Nice as this is? Not used to it, messes with my head a little. I'm used to taking care of myself." The painkillers are starting to work so when Ian tries to get to his feet he does it with minimal fuss. Swaying only a little when he's upright.

Antony nods. He gathers Ian's clothes and hands them over, watching him shove his things into his bag. "My car's out back, this way," he says, gesturing towards the rear of the building. "Do me a favour?" Still watching Ian closely, just in case he needs him to lean on.

"Yeah, what's that?" Ian doesn't sling the bag on his back the same way he had on his way in, simply lets it hang from his hand. 

"Text me tomorrow? Let me know how you're doing?" Antony says, slowly leading the way out, the lights turned off behind them.

Ian's brows go up in surprise. "Yeah, but I'll be fine," he assures Antony.

"I know you will but I'll be on the other fucking side of the world and I'd feel better actually hearing it from you," Antony tells him, locking up the outside door.

"And if I wasn't?" Ian asks, just because he can, because he's getting some of his sass back. "You gonna fly back and nurse me back to health?" He shakes his head and shuffles to the car. "Yeah I'll text."

"No, but I'll talk you through or get you whatever help you need," Antony says bluntly, ignoring the sarcasm. He unlocks the car but leans over the hood on the driver's side. "If we're going to do this, that's how it'll work. I'll beat the ever-living-fuck out of you as often as you need and you'll do me the courtesy of knowing you're okay the next day."

Ian's tired enough to feel reprimanded, his chin comes down and he nods. "Yeah sure, thanks..." he pulls open the door and climbs in, settling his bag on his lap. The coke has totally worn off now, and he's coming down hard. Now he just has to endure the journey home before he hits bottom.

"You can sleep if you want," Antony tells him, pulling out of the parking lot. "I'll wake you when we get there. Or there's music..." he gestures at the radio and the CD case sitting in the console between them.

Ian turns to look at the other man in the low light. "I know I got what I was after... did you?" he asks softly, ignoring the offer of music or sleep.

Antony nods. "Yeah, I did," he says, just as quietly. "I've got a long flight ahead of me tomorrow. I might actually be able to sleep for some of it."

"I'm glad." Ian gives a quick smile then unzips his bag, pulling out the pill bottle, he pops another into his palm. "I'm working all day, no rest for the wicked," he snorts at himself, then pops the pill on the back of his tongue, dry swallowing it.

"Do you do films or TV?" Antony asks, glancing over at Ian as he can, the traffic fairly light at this time of night.

"TV." Ian closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake as his ego protests. "I'm actually pretty well known," he adds. "Clearly you're not into your vampire shows," he gives a self deprecating laugh. "Doesn't matter."

"I don't watch TV other than the news," Antony says. "What's the show?" Realizing he doesn't even know Ian's last name.

"Why, you gonna go watch me?" Ian's mouth twitches. "Vampire Diaries," he offers. "It's a good gig, good people." He lets out a deep breath. "Fuck man, I'm just hitting bed I think... you worked me over pretty fucking good back there."

Antony smiles at that. "This you?" he asks, pulling up in front of the address Ian gave him.

"Yeah," Ian nods, and gathers his bag in one hand. "You've got my number... if you get the itch, call me, we might... align our thing." He pushes open the car door and hauls his ass out, albeit rather gracelessly. "Thanks man, for the fight and the fuck, and the ride," he leans in as he speaks. "Hope your trip's good."

"Thanks," Antony says with a smile, wishing for a moment that he'd thought to kiss Ian while he had the chance. "Go get some sleep and take care of yourself."

Ian doesn't wait to see the car go, he just concentrates on getting his butt up the path and through his front door. The bag discarded where it falls, his shoes kicked off and Ian falls into bed without even taking off the sweats. Sleep is deep and dreamless.


End file.
